(Side Story) Christmas Choices
by taerkitty
Summary: When you're an SWA cyborg, nothing is normal, not even Christmas. OC fratello Paolo di Tomaso and Dina. CC Priscilla.
1. Crimson Night

**Author's Notes:** This story will very likely be incorporated into a future volume of "A Triumph of the Heart." At this time, inspiration struck, struck hard, and refuses to let go, so I am forced to "exorcise by prose" this idea before I am able to work on the Volume 3 of "Heart." If and when this story becomes part of the main series of "Hope" volumes, I'll simply rename it so your comments will not be lost. Until then, it will be named:

_Christmas Choices _Chapter 1: Crimson Night

The snow started falling on winter solstice's morning, at first lightly dusting the trees and roofs. It continued through the next few days and nights, and now drifts knee -high were piled where shoveled, forming inconvenient berms between the parking lanes and the sidewalks and shops.

Via del Governo Vecchio hosted many antique shops, dusty mazes of clothing racks bursting with fashions from generations past. Sempre Verde looked from the outside to be neglected to the point of becoming a public nuisance with its cracked display window and perennial "Use Side Door" signs hanging from the double front doors.

Locals knew this was all deliberate. If one searched online hard enough, one would find a picture of sour-faced safety inspectors arguing with the owner in twilight's gloom, in front of those self-same broken doors, both open wide and steady. How else would the store remain open year after year, fire inspection after fire inspection?

Dina smiled at the recent memory of learning this herself. Priscilla Meleori, data specialist, was narrating this fact while typing on her laptop. Dina was seated in the next office chair, her feet dangling. Paolo di Tomaso, Social Welfare Agency special agent, was looking over both their shoulders as he leaned on Priscilla's chair back, his hands atop each the other, and his chin, broad and strong, resting on them.

Dina marveled at the analyst's depth of knowledge in so many fields, and she loved how Signorina Priscilla's voice was animated and warm, such a warm contrast to the somber tones so many of the other adults used when addressing her and her fellow cyborgs. To most of the Social Welfare Agency, they cyborgs were tools to be kept honed, weapons to be kept oiled. At most, a handler might be less guarded with his respective cyborg, such as how Paolo treated her. However, Signorina Priscilla was like that to all of the cyborgs.

Leaning into the leather seat, Dina closed her eyes and tried to relive that happy moment once more.

"Coming?" A brisk chill filled the car as Paolo opened the back driver's side door. The nighttime lights silhouetted the speaker.

Dina nodded with a smile as she bounded from the seat. Anyone paying attention might have noticed the car's suspension rise far more than it should from the mass of a normal ten-year old being removed.

Her handler closed the door and tested the handle. He caught her quick and slightly-puzzled glance from his pocket to his outstretched hand before their eyes met. "Old habits, I guess." He ran a gloved hand through his neat and close-cropped hair. "Most people lock their cars with remotes these days."

She gave a firm nod. "That's okay, Signore Paolo. I'll be sure to do that from now on, too."

He smiled. "Sempre Verde's door is off that alley. What colour hat would you think looks funniest on Jean?"

"Pink!"

Paolo tried to imagine the tall, blond, and stone-faced lead special agent sporting a pink fedora. With laughter bubbling, they stepped lightly into the streetlight's yellow pool on the way to the crowded store.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Paolo and Dina exited Sempre Verde with their hands each clutching a fan of bags. By the car's trunk, Paolo made to set his bags down, but looked at the grey slush, bootprints atop tire treads, and instead started threading his left hand through the bag handles.

"Here, Signore Paolo." Not only did Dina carry the bag of heavy, leather-bound antique photo albums, she also hefted a brass cherub statue. Her load was easily twenty kilos, yet she still held her arm straight and outstretched, as if those bags contained nothing more than pillows.

"It's all right, Dina. I have this well in..."

Two of the bags fell from his fumbling fingers and splashed muddy, semi-melted snow on his shoes.

Paolo laughed. "Oh, well." He set the other bags down, freeing his right hand. "Maybe I should have let you help me." He dug in his pocket for the keys, smiling.

Dina looked up at her handler and smiled back. With a triumphant gleam in her eyes, she took a breath and readied her thoughts.

Gunshots drowned out her words. She flattened Paolo, her hundred kilos forcing all the air out of his lungs. She looked around, then rolled off him and crouched, blocking his view of the far intersection. Her leather schoolbag she had already slipped off her right shoulder and slung under her left arm, pressed against her body.

Her right hand was shoved under the flap, wrapped around the bulky handle of the Beretta 90Two.

Paolo pushed himself into a seated position. As he did, Dina side-stepped, keeping herself always between him and the sporadic gunfire. "Dina, can you move over? I can't see."

"Yes, Signore Paolo." She took a half-step to the left.

Two cars, dark grey luxury sedans blocked a hulking black sport-utility vehicle between them. Two men crouched behind the nearest car, still fifty meters distant, intermittently rising from behind the vehicle to shoot. A third lay between them, his clothing rapidly growing red.

"Are you all right, Signore Paolo?"

"I'm fine, Dina. Thank you."

"Should we engage?"

Paolo shook his head. "No, we're just bystanders right now. Besides, I don't know which side is who." He brushed the dirty slush and snow off his greatcoat and stood. "However, we should move closer."

They ignored their strewn bags, moved onto the sidewalk and fought their way upstream against the flow of panicked shoppers. By the time they huddled behind the car closest to the battle, all pedestrians had fled the area. The undulating wail of police sirens sounded from two directions.

The two grey 7-Series BMWs roared off, their ambushers with them. The Range Rover's driver opened his door and stumbled out. He took two steps, then leaned against his massive vehicle, and slid down, leaving a dark red streak over the rear passenger door. A machine pistol clattered on the street.

"Keep your weapon hidden, but ready, Dina."

"Yes, Signore Paolo."

They surveyed the wreckage.

The Rover's tires were still leaking air. Not a pane of glass remained. Bullet holes formed black centers in circles of missing black paint. They stood in stark contrast to the light-grey metal underneath.

"What do we-"

"Stay here, Dina." Paolo rose and started walking toward the survivor.

"Signore Paolo! That's not safe!" She rushed beside him and grabbed his hand.

Halted, Paolo looked at her in mild surprise. "Didn't I tell you to stay behind?"

She nodded. "But I can't let you get hurt!"

"All right, come with me. But that man needs help." He crouched and cupped his free hand between his mouth and her ear. "Besides, I think the Agency would want to know what's going on here."

She nodded, this time haltingly. "Yes, Signore Paolo." She freed his hand and slipped her hand back under the schoolbag's flap.

The driver was shot multiple times in the upper torso. His breath was ragged and thready.

Paolo nodded once at the driver.

Dina knelt, removed the Army-issue first aid kit from her backpack, and started tearing the driver's pant legs into strips of cloth.

Paolo opened the rear door.

The passenger too bore multiple wounds, but was conscious. A pistol, handle slick with blood, had fallen from his hand and was just out of reach. He fumbled for it nevertheless. "Do it already. You're a dead man, so you might as well enjoy this."

Paolo held up his hands. "I'm here to help. The other guys drove off already. Besides," he pointed skyward with his upraised hand, "the police are almost here. You're safe."

His cough brought up a trickle of blood. "Then tell me, are you a doctor?"

"Just a bystander trying to help. Dina! Bring your kit!"


	2. Curious Night

_Christmas Choices _Chapter 2: Curious Night

The ambulances blared their horns as they parted the crowd. In addition to the usual holiday shoppers, the strobes of professional cameras announced the arrival of the press.

"Let's go, Dina." Paolo placed a hand on her back and guided her toward the edge of the crowd.

"Signore Paolo? Isn't our car that way?" She pointed her thumb over her shoulder.

"Yes, but so are the nice photographers. Minister Maria-Petris could keep it out of print, but it'd be much more difficult to keep it off the net."

They took only one more step before a policeman blocked their path. "I'm sorry, Signor, but we can't have you-"

Paolo handed his identification to the officer, who snapped to attention. "I'm sorry for bothering you, Colonel Matteotti!"

"That's fine, Officer ... Officer Baglioni. My niece and I just want to stay out of the papers." Paolo slid the identification card back into his wallet.

Quickly, they were absorbed by the crowd.

Ξ§§§Ξ

After an hour, the wreckage was towed away. Crime scene technicians still worked behind the police barriers, labouriously cataloging, measuring, and photographing. Theirs were the only flashes intruding on the night. The falling snow made each strobe cause the nearby snowflakes to twinkle, a merry and peaceful counterpoint to the recent events.

"Looks like we can leave now." Paolo paid for the silk necktie adorned with a pattern of red motorcycle silhouettes.

"I don't think we'll ever see Director Lorenzo wear that, Signore Paolo." Dina was wearing a second-hand red jumper, a grey-and-white jacket one size too large and boys' snow boots, her previous outfit becoming stained while tending to the two wounded men.

"Probably not, but we can make him wear it in our minds, right?"

As they walked past the urban skirmish grounds, Dina gave her handler's hand a squeeze. "Signore Paolo? I can't imagine it. I've tried and tried..."

Paolo wiggled his hand free of hers, tousled her hair, then offered it back for her to hold. "It's fine. We can have Priscilla help us."

"How? Will she sneak into the Director's office and ..." She dissolved into giggles as they approached their Audi. She obviously had no difficulties imagining Priscilla in mischief.

As he gathered their earlier bags, now soaked and soiled, Paolo smiled at the thought. "No, I'm sure she can do something with her computer. It's almost like she's a magici-"

"Colonel Matteotti? Inspector Salvatore Liceti, _Polizia di Stato_. I was wondering if you and your niece could share a cappuccino and a pastry with me? I'll be happy to pay."

Paolo keyed the trunk, then, wet and dry, he loaded the bags into it. He took the most care to place the bag containing Dina's blood-soaked previous outfit as far from the policeman as possible. "Thank you, Inspector, but I promised my sister I'd have Julietta home long before now."

At mention of her pseudonym, Dina gave a slight bow.

"I'm afraid I must insist, Colonel. My superiors are very demanding when it comes to our post-incident reports."

"I'm sure I have nothing to add." The solid thud as the trunk closed emphasized his words.

"I think you do. We can start with why you have military dressings at hand. Or why your niece," Liceti gave the word a slight emphasis as he gave her a minute nod, "... has combat medic training."

The still night air was cool and dry.

Silently and deliberately, Dina slid her right arm out of her backpack's strap.

Paolo placed his hand on her newly-freed shoulder.

Their breaths slowed, deepened, synchronized.

"All right, Inspector. Let's have that midnight snack."

Ξ§§§Ξ

Paolo set his cup down with but the softest click.

Liceti held his. "We've heard rumours, fantastical rumours of children at crime scenes, sometimes perpetrating them, other times abetting others. Do you know what the descriptions all had in common?"

"No, what?"

"How expressionless they were. Much like Julietta here. So, I'm curious about those rumours. Tell me they're false."

"They're false."

"Ah, but how can you say that, dear Colonel? You don't even know what they are."

"I can tell you they're false because I've been ordered to say so." Paolo extracted a business card from his wallet. "Call this number, and you'll be ordered to say so as well."

Liceti picked up the card with only his fingernails, slowly and with great care, as if it was volatile. "Ministry of Defense?"

"Yes, Inspector. Monica Maria-Petris. In fact, that's her direct number. The Minister won't answer it, of course. But it will go to her immediate secretary. That secretary will take down your name, your inquiry, and promise to call you back." Paolo sipped his coffee slowly. "In a day's time, you'll get a call, and so will your superior, and his superior. They'll all have the same message. I'm sure you can guess what it is."

The police inspector slid the card back.

"Oh, no. It's yours to keep. I'll admit I don't carry many of them, but I don't expect to have to use them that often. Usually the word of a colonel is enough for most people."

Inspector Liceti stood and nodded. "I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time." He grabbed his overcoat and all-but-fled the trattoria.

As Paolo sipped his cup, Dina tugged at his other arm.

"Signore Paolo?"

"Yes?"

She pointed at the business card next to the abandoned cup and half-eaten profiterole. "Is that really Minister Maria-Petris' phone number?"

Paolo ran his fingers through her hair again. "No, of course not. Do you think I would have..."

Dina bowed her head.

He castigated himself mentally. "Oh, Dina. I didn't mean it that way." He set down his cup and hugged her. In his arms, her ragged breathing slowly grew regular.

"When you said 'of course,' I thought you meant that I should have known that. I was worried I had..." She forced a quavering smile below her red and wet eyes. "I'm sorry."

Paolo patted her on the back, all the time never letting her free from his embrace. "No, Dina. I'm the one who should apologize. I should have known better by now."

She worked a hand free of his hug and smeared a tear across her temple. "It's all right, Signore Paolo. I should be stronger. I will be stronger." Her determined nod almost caused her to head butt him.

"It's all right," he repeated her words, but smiling as he did. "I was careless with my words. They can cut, or they can comfort. Or," he waved across the table, "... they can be used to mislead."

"When you said that, were you trying to hurt him, or help him?"

"I was just trying to mislead him."

"But, that still can hurt or help, right, Signore Paolo?"

He finished his cappuccino, stalling for time. "I think, given what would have happened if he kept pursuing that line of questioning, what I did helped him."

"Yes, Signore Paolo. I think so too."


	3. Challenging Night

_Christmas Choices _Chapter 3: Challenging Night

Paolo's own post-incident report for this night was mercifully short. He saw very little, thanks to Dina's protecting him. He did very little, other than open the door and direct Dina to care for the Range Rover's wounded passenger. And most importantly, he said very little, though he detailed as best he could the conversation with Inspector Liceti, both out of importance and also pride.

There were only two open questions: who as the man in the back seat? Why was he targeted? Paolo typed in "unknown", but knew it was only a matter of time before Priscilla would demand more than merely that.

Still, it was almost dawn, and his bed in the adjacent building called. He saved the form, submitted it, rubbed his eyes, and half-staggered out the door.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Paolo rose from his bed, his ribs sore where his shoulder holster pressed against him as he slept. Out the window, he saw the midday sun had risen as high as it could, which still wasn't very high. His clothing was wrinkled, and his pant legs filthy. In spite of his stupor, he must have shed his shoes before collapsing on the bed. Of that, he was grateful, else the sheets would be in even worse shape.

He contemplated a shower.

The message light on his phone was blinking. He was sure who called, and he was equally sure what it was about.

He was also sure the shower could wait.

Ξ§§§Ξ

The Operations Room, nicknamed "The Bullpen", was a neat array of neat and unkempt desks, each with a computer, various minor decoration such as picture frames, and intent, focused people typing or reading. Paolo, being a recent arrival, was seated in the far corner, his desk hastily added and obstructing that seldom-used path. Beside his desk stood Priscilla.

She was not smiling.

"I know, I know. I just need to find out who the victims were, then we can file it."

Silence.

"Right?" Paolo cleared his throat and tugged at his collar, which seemed to be shrinking by the centimeter under her stare.

Her right cheek twitched. "I'll save you the trouble. He's Dominic Dorigo. _Caporegime_ Dominic Dorigo."

"What, should I have let him meet Saint Peter instead?"

Her brown hair bounced as she shook her head. "No, that would have been worse. Did you know he was working for the _Guardia di Finanza_?"

"Uh, no. Should I have?"

"No, but you threw the Agency into the middle of a _Guardia_ operation. I spent all morning trying to smooth things over with them."

Paolo fumbled with some papers, tapping them on his desk. He didn't look at them. "So they want us to help?"

"They want us to leave."

"That sounds like it's for the -"

"But Dorigo wants us in." She leaned in, as if her words were a dagger's thrust.

Paolo backed away. "Huh? Why?"

"He says you're an eyewitness."

"But- but I didn't see anything. It was too far away. Easily forty meters. Maybe more."

"Well, you get to tell him that. He said he's not going to talk to the prosecutor until he talks to you."

"Oh." Paolo set the papers down.

She slapped a business card on top of the stack. An address was written on the white expanse on the back. "Here's the hospital. Get him talking so we can get out of this mess before you end up testifying."

He pocketed the card, autonomously obeying her command. His eyes never left hers this whole time. "Uh, Priscilla?"

"Yes?"

"You're scary when you're mad."

"This isn't me mad. This is me upset that you didn't think about all the work I have to do to keep us out of this sort of business."

"Uh, okay. I believe you."

"Then why are you still here?"

After he was safely out of the bullpen, he let a low, slow breath out through pursed lips. "I hope she never gets mad at me, then."

Ξ§§§Ξ

"So you're my little angel of mercy, eh?" His cough caused the heart rate meter to spike. The door opened, and one of the guards looked inside.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Close the door." He looked at Paolo and Dina. "Not that it's all that private or anything. I'm sure they're recording me. Now, as I was saying, this little girl is the reason I'm still breathing."

"Yes, Signore Dorigo." Dina looked down as she pressed the toes of her patent-leather shoes together.

"Dominic. Dominic. If I owe you my life, then the least I can do is have you call me by my Christian name."

"Yes, Signo- Uh, I mean yes, Dominic."

Paolo cleared his throat. "I'm sure she didn't do that much, Dominic."

"Hey! I didn't say _you_ could call me that. I _knew_ I should have shot you when I saw you. If I had my gun when you opened the door…" His face broke into laughter. One arm slapped the bed, causing the hoses and wires to dance wildly. The meters showed red spikes and scolded him.

"I'm sorry, Signore Dori-"

"You didn't _believe_ me, did you? Of course you can call me Dominic."

Again, the door opened. Again, a scowling face peered in.

"Don't worry, I'm still alive." The Mafioso waved the door shut. "They have to do that. Each time I cough, sneeze, or fart." He smiled, then let it fade to a much graver expression. "I wasn't lying when I said I would have shot you back there. I thought you were one of the other guys."

Paolo felt Dina tense. He wasn't touching her, wasn't looking at her, but he felt her tension nevertheless. _This day is just getting better and better_. "As I was saying, uh, Dominic, Dina didn't do that much. The ambulance was there right after I got to you."

"They say, when you're dying, everything moves like it's in honey. Slow and blurry. I saw you," a shaky finger pointed at Dina. "I saw you come in and patch me up. You didn't flinch one bit."

Paolo scratched his head as he gave a forced laugh. "Well, Girl Guides and all that, you know…"

"Nonsense. Did you know the paramedics didn't change them? They took one look at my dressings and put me on the stretcher."

"Oh, that's probably not what they were supposed to do. We should probably complain-"

"Stop. It's not going to work. Besides, I'm not used to being interrupted, you know?" He grinned as he gave Paolo a wink, but the steel in his eyes reiterated his words.

Paolo nodded.

"When I got here, the doctors asked me who put them on. 'A little girl,' I said. They laughed and asked me again. This time, they asked which doctor. Let me tell you, I was glad when they had to put me under - that little round-and-round was just like being interviewed by the cops."

Paolo nodded again.

"So, you know why I asked for you, right?"

"Yes, but I'm sorry to tell you, but I didn't see anything."

"Didn't, or wouldn't?"

"We were too far away. We were practically at the end of the block when they attacked you."

The capo coughed again. "Yes, but you were the only ones who moved _toward_ us. I'm sure you saw something. I could make it very … rewarding for you."

"Look, I saw three guys, one down, the other two shooting at you. They were using submachine guns or machine pistols or something. They drove away in … BMWs. 7-series. Dark grey. I can't remember any more than that."

Dorigo's brow furrowed. "You said one of them was shot. Good for Silvio."

"Oh, that's right. I saw your driver get out after they drove off. He was shot up pretty badly. He got out and dropped his … it was an Uzi. Hey, your driver! He's a better witness, right?"

"He would be, except he's dead." Dorigo shook his head slowly. "Christ, I can't believe I know more about this than you do."

"See? I told you, I didn't see anything." Paolo held out his open hands. "Say, how did you get your information?"

"I made it … rewarding for someone." Dorigo gave a low chuckle.

The door opened. "It sure wasn't me. Hello, Colonel Matteotti. Hello, Julietta."

Inspector Liceti strode in, and he wasn't happy.


	4. Carnificial Night

_Christmas Choices _Chapter 4: Carnificial Night

"Good to see you again, Inspector." Paolo held out his hand.

"And you as well, Colonel." Liceti grasped it and squeezed it hard.

"So, how can I help the _Polizia di Stato_ in a _Guardia di Finanza_ investigation?" Paolo reciprocated.

Their eyes locked. Their hands each constricted the other.

"You can start with telling me why SISME was at the site."

His concentration fixed on the proxy battle-handshake, Paolo responded without thought. "I haven't been in Military Intelligence for some time."

Liceti bore down harder, unearthing some reserve of strength. "I think you're still a spook."

"Well, if I am, do you think it's wise to ask me that?" His voice was low to hide the strain.

"I don't know. Why don't we call that number on the MoD business card together and see?"

Paolo yielded. His fingers relaxed, and he wiggled his hand from the Inspector's. "All right, what if I was in the intelligence service? What would you expect me to say? Admit it?"

"No, but I'd like an honest answer to-"

They were interrupted by Dorigo's mix of laughter and coughing, quickly joined by the bleating heart rate monitor. "You are too much, both of you!" He waved his hand at the police inspector. "And here I thought you were visiting me! Instead, you're just looking to finish some fight. Well, go ahead, but try not to break anything; they might bill me for it."

Paolo shook his head. "This isn't the right-"

"Wait a second, Colonel. You owe me some answers. We can start with-"

He held his index finger to his lips. "Not. The. Right. Time." The words were soft, scarcely more than a whisper.

In unison, four pairs of eyes glanced at the door. Nothing.

His voice still hushed, Paolo asked, "Dominic? Can you cough again? Cough a lot."

Dorigo complied. The monitors scolded them.

"That's good." Paolo patted the capo's hand. "Disconnect yourself and get in the coat closet."

He slapped his belly and winced. "Have you seen this? The result of years of good living. Do you think I can-"

"We don't have a lot of time." Paolo started to gently pull the tubing and cables off the portly man. Beeping, then screeching filled the room.

"Bathroom?"

"It can wait."

"No, how about I hide in the bathroom?"

"That's where they'll look after they shoot up the bed. Get up and get in there."

With an exaggerated grunt and grumble, Dominic Dorigo sat at the edge of his bed. Inspector Liceti mouthed a "Why?" as he helped the older man up and to the closet.

As Liceti closed the closet door, Dorigo uttered a sardonic "Thank you." Between the blaring medical alarms and the door, it was barely heard.

Paolo turned and drew the privacy curtain around the bed. "In the bathroom, Inspector."

"Signore Paolo?"

Paolo looked down. Dina had placed herself between him and the door, her hand again in her bookbag. "The guards didn't come when he coughed. Twice."

"I meant, where do you want me?"

"Out the window."

Liceti grabbed his arm. "Are you joking? This is the fifteenth floor!"

"It's all right, Signore Inspector." Dina slid the Beretta 90Two from her bag, the ripping of hidden Velcro seams seeming louder than even the cacophony of bleeps and tones. She passed the gun to her left hand, drew the Gerber Mark II blade and clamped it between her teeth. "Be careful, Signore Paolo." With the knife between her teeth, her words were distorted, and her lips twisted in a grimace of a smile.

The suddenly-opened window chilled the room. Below, the street lights and decorations twinkled in their unknowing peace. Paolo guided the stunned policeman into the cramped bathroom and closed the door. He unholstered his own Beretta 90Two. "Do you have a pistol, inspector?"

"What?"

"We may have to defend ourselves. Do you have a -"

The staccato barking echoed in the tiled chamber. It was followed by two mighty and deep roars. The chainsaw of gunfire resumed, then stopped a second later.

A second tempo of blasts sounded, two at a time, then a pause, then two more. It was replied by the angry rattle coincident with a deep boom.

Light suddenly shone into the darkened lavatory when a fist-sized chunk of the door vanished.

The double-tap beat responded, then a short burst of submachine gun fire suddenly cut short.

As fast as the chaos of gunfire burst upon their ears, so was the stillness that followed. Only their shallow and rapid breaths, only their pulsing heartbeats filled their ears.

"Signore Paolo? You can come out now."

Paolo opened the door only partway before it hit a felled body. He leaned on the door, moving it to one side and leaving an angry red smear on the white linoleum floor. He looked around.

Tufts of batting and feathers still floated in the air, giving it the look of indoor snowfall. The air was turned acrid from the gunfire.

Four attackers lay dead in the room. One more was sprawled face-up in the doorway, the Gerber protruding from his right eye socket. They all wore doctors' scrubs, hair nets, face masks, even the synthetic cloth shoe coverings. Their firearms were not far away – four Steyr TMP machine pistols and a Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun.

Grimly, Paolo walked past the gape-mouthed Liceti and pulled the last body into the room before closing the door. He grabbed the inspector by the shoulders and shook him. "Listen. There may be more of them. Are you still with me?"

Mutely, the Inspector nodded.

The Mafia capo slowly crept out of the closet. He took in the carnage. "What… what happened?"

"Not the right time. Are you all right?"

He pointed at his other shoulder. "I'm not … sure. Is … is this supposed to happen?"

The dressing was soaked in red, and it was starting to drip.

Dorigo collapsed to the floor.

Dina unslung her schoolbag and swapped magazines, then knelt and retrieved her knife from the dead man's skull, wiping it once on each side on his chest to remove the bits of bone and sheen of mucus. She put it between her teeth. "Out the window again, Signore Paolo?"

"No, Dina. They know we're here. Tend to him, first. I'll cover the door."

"Yes, Signore Paolo."

"She is a ... " Liceti swallowed, looked at her, then at Paolo. "She's a … a monster."

"No, she may be able to do amazing things." Paolo tilted his pistol to check the chamber loaded indicator, then crouched, aiming at the doorway. "But at her heart, she's just a little girl."


	5. Canticle Night

_Christmas Choices _Chapter 5: Canticle Night

If Dorigo's previous room was noisy, the Critical Care ward was triple the assault on Dina's augmented ears. There were more monitors, more hoses, more stands and lights. There were more nurses barging in, more doctors and residents making illegible notes.

There was also one more patient in the room.

Outside, Liceti and his _Guardia_ counterpart were having a spirited argument with short and balding man in an ill-fitting suit, and a very harried looking older doctor with silver enriching his beard and hair.

Dina looked at Paolo and nodded. Paolo sighed and lowered himself onto a chair. It was going to be a long night.

Caporegime Dominic Dorigo was pale. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were sunken. They would open, randomly take in the room, then come to rest looking at Dina before the lids like curtains slowly closed.

Three of the boisterous quartet filed in, with the _Guardia_ official standing outside the doorway.

"I'm afraid we're stuck here, Colonel. We can't move him, and we can't move her," Liceti waved at the elderly lady in the other bed, the stump of one leg wrapped in a dressing, and with hoses, wires, and bandages all over the rest of her. As if to acknowledge him, she moaned. Loudly.

"As I said, Inspector…" The man in the white lab jacket over his expertly-tailored dark grey suit turned and nodded at Paolo. "And Colonel. As I was saying, we have no other beds in Critical Care. In fact, we have one patient in our pre-op unit because we are so short."

In so much as he was tall, cool, and lean, his counterpart was every way the opposite. "Yes, yes, yes. And Doctor Sangallo was, was too polite to say that, that, that we would very, very much like to see Signor Dorigo leave. We're very, very worried that his … uh, presence is a danger to the other patients." He mopped his shiny pate with a sodden kerchief.

Again, the lady moaned, this one ending in a soft sob.

Paolo looked at the others. "Well, they're probably not expecting he'll be in a double room, at any rate." He looked at his watch. "Besides, the others will be here soon, and they'll set up a perimeter."

"If they're abominations like her, we'll be safe. We may owe the devil our souls after this, but we'll be safe."

This didn't comfort the stout man. He swallowed after the second attempt and waved a finger at Liceti. "I'll be talking to your superiors!"

The Inspector pinched and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I'm not here for Dorigo. I'm here for Colonel Matteotti. You want to complain to _La Guardia_, that guy." Without looking up, his other hand waved at the doorway.

"Humph!"

In his absence, everyone exhaled, even Doctor Sangallo. "Signor Brunelleschi is an excellent administrator." He tried to smile, but it came out as a sad facsimile. "Inspector, Colonel. I'm afraid this latest bombing has our staff quite short-handed. They must be, if they're going to trust an old man like me with a scapel."

"Doctor Sangallo, sir?"

So tall was the surgeon that he looked around twice before finally glancing down at Dina. "Yes, _bambina_?"

"What happened? Who did it?"

He sighed. "When I finally step on the stage, the most important people are the ones who care the least about who did it."

Dina tilted her head to one side and blinked.

"The bit about the stage? Well, we call it an operating _theater_, so it must have a stage, right?"

She nodded, but her eyes were still unfulfilled.

"Oh, the who and the why, that's right, that's right… The most important people at this point in time are the survivors, _bambina_. Ask any of them if they care who did this. They only care about living. And not dying."

Again, the old woman moaned. This one was far louder than her emaciated frame looked capable of making. It had the makings of a word, more than just a sound.

Paolo patted Dina on the head. "We should let the Doctor go."

"Yes, Signore Paolo. But…"

"No buts, Dina. He's busy."

Doctor Sangallo crouched. "If I don't have time for the little joys in life, why live? What is your question, _bambina_?"

Dina pointed at the other bed. "She's really hurt, Doctor. Can you help her before you go?"

He closed his eyes, shook his head. "She has all the painkillers she can take. Any more might kill her. Well, kill her sooner." He took in her expression. "I can't, little one. It's against my oath. Only her family can give permission. But they were killed in the bombing."

Another moan tore at their hearts.

Ξ§§§Ξ

In the half of the room demarked by the privacy curtain, Liceti stared at Paolo while stealing intermittent glances at Dina. His eyes were sharp, accusing. Judging.

The woman in the other bed would moan frequently, some louder than others. Sometimes they were just wordless cries, other times names. No less than five other names were mixed between the other groans.

It was an oppressive night. It was not silent, and it was not still. There was no peace in the air. Finally, Dina turned to Liceti.

"Signore Inspector? Would you feel better if I wasn't here?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Signore Paolo? Should I check the … what was the word? The perimeter?"

"Go ahead, Dina. But don't be long. And, if anything happens, let them handle it."

"Yes, Signore Paolo."

No sooner had she left than Paolo turned to Liceti. "All right, let's hear it. You've been waiting for hours, so say it."

"Fine. She's an abomination. She's a psychopath. I don't know what you did, how you did it, but she's evil incarnate. I said it before: she's a monster."

"You realize, she probably saved your life."

"How many other lives did she take?"

"I don't know. I don't keep track."

"A guess, then. Dozens? A _hundred?_"

"I don't know. I don't keep track. But I'll tell you this – they were all people you would agree we're better off without."

"The only person I am thinking we're better off without is her right now. Back in the other room, she looked like she was enjoying herself. She was looking at you as if she was expecting a reward, a pat on the head."

"No, you have it all wrong. She was looking to me for direction, nothing more."

"She pulled that goddamned knife out of that guy's brain and put it in her goddamned mouth! And she smiled. Smiled!"

"Yes, all right. That was her training. That was me. I'm the monster, not her. She's … you couldn't believe how sweet she can be. She cares, a lot, about everybody. Most probably she cares much more than she should."

"I saw how she cares about people. Hell, she was practically asking the doctor to kill-" Liceti abruptly stopped and whipped his thumb at the other bed, two privacy curtains away. "In fact, where is she, anyhow?"

Paolo pointed his finger skyward, staying the Inspector's tirade. Amidst all the other tones, he picked up Dorigo's heart rate's beeps, slow, steady. He pointed at the unconscious man, then the heart rate monitor, then bobbed his finger like a conductor.

Liceti nodded. He leaned back, closer to the other bed. He too started to nod, but much faster. Paolo followed his rhythm and picked out the other series of beeps.

"As I was saying, she's totally devoid of humanity. I don't know what you did, but I know it's against man and God."

"She's just a little girl, Inspector. She has specialized training and some … other advantages, but she still plays with dolls, still enjoys ice cream, and still gets nightmares."

"Her nightmares must be horrific, then."

"If they're about her past, then I would agree. She's not had an easy life, Inspector. This is her second chance at life. It's a life in the shadows, but it's still a life."

Ξ§§§Ξ

At some point, the passion in Liceti and Paolo's argument slowly faded to naught and they continued to debate not in an adversarial fashion, but more to simply pass time.

Only the sudden continuous tone interrupted them from repeating the same points for the third or fifth time at each other. The looked at each other, then looked at Dorigo's heart rate monitor.

Beep … beep … beep …

It was steady, and his chest rose and fell just as steadily.

Behind the curtain, they heard people enter and leave.

Paolo unholstered his pistol and put it in his lap, under a towel. "This would be a good time to make a try for Dorigo, in all this chaos."

Liceti nodded. "Where is Dina? And is her name Dina or Julietta?"

"I'm Dina, Signore Inspector. It's okay, I'm watching the door."

Liceti ripped aside the privacy curtain, then the second, surprising all the medical staff.

Dina sat by the woman's bed, holding her hand even in death.

Only then did Liceti realize the woman had not cried out once since Dina left. He looked at her, mouth gaping.

"She was telling me about her family, Signore Inspector. They had lots of dinners together. She had a lot of family, and she missed them."

He stared at her, his mouth trying to frame a question, but failing.

"No one should die alone, Signore Inspector. Especially not on Christmas Eve."


	6. Christmas Choices' Epilogue

**_Christmas Choices'_**** Epilogue**

"It appears your memory is fine, Dina." The Agency doctor put the photo album away. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"No, sir. May I be excused?"

He stole a quick peek at the one-way mirror. "Of course, Dina. By the way, I'm really impressed with how you carried yourself this mission."

Dina gave him her most winning smile. "Thank you, Doctor." Because he was part of the Social Welfare Agency, she felt that ember of pride, that programmed response to anyone from the Agency giving her praise. However, it wasn't like when Paolo did that; when he said anything like that, her heart felt like it was going float away.

She closed the door and leaned against the wall, grateful he hadn't asked the one question she dreaded the moment she saw him. _What was his name again?_

The next door opened. Priscilla rushed out, crouched, and hugged her. "Oh, Dina! You are _so_ sweet!"

At her words, Dina's spirits soared. Again, not as much as if Paolo had said those same words, but much more so than when the doctor lauded her. She wrapped her arms around the brown-haired young lady, but as soon as she did, a guilty pang stole that joy away. Her smile shrank, faded. "Thank you, Priscilla."

"Is something the matter, Dina?"

"Well, our gifts got wet when they attacked Signore Dori- I mean Dominic. I had to drop them to protect Signore Paolo."

"Of course, Dina. That's what we pro- uh, that's what we trained you to do, right? You did great."

"Thank you, Priscilla." She looked away. "But, I'm afraid we won't be able to give you your gift in time for Christmas. It's out for dry cleaning. Oh! I shouldn't have said that! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to give it away!"

Priscilla kissed her forehead. "That's fine, dear. I didn't have any idea what to get you."

"Well, Signore Paolo gives me dolls…"

"That's _his_ gift, Dina. I don't want to copy him. But … I still don't know what to give you. Do you have any suggestions?"

Dina nudged a spot on the carpet with one of her patent-leather shoes. "Uh… I'm not sure if I should ask it…"

"Go ahead, dear. I promise, if I can, I'll do it!"

She looked back at Priscilla, her eyes brighter than before.

"I promise, Dina. Tell me, please." The young woman looked at Dina, waiting.

"Well, remember I was talking to Nonna Lorelli, right?

"Nonna Lorelli?" Priscilla blinked as she tried to recall the name.

"The woman in the hospital room? With Dominic? She was telling me a lot of things about her life, and how she spent Christmas. Then she died." The little girl took a deep breath. "Could you have Christmas dinner with Signore Paolo and me?"

"Of course, Dina. Where does he want to go?"

"I don't know. I mean, I didn't ask him yet."

"Wait, does he know I may be coming?"

Dina looked down at her shoes.

"That's very sweet of you, Dina, but you shouldn't invite other people to someone's Christmas dinner. What if he has plans?"

Dina looked up at the data analyst. "He didn't tell me any. He gave me a doll, and told me Merry Christmas. He didn't tell me we were going anywhere tonight."

Priscilla paused and tried to phrase the thought carefully. "Dina? He may have other plans. Perhaps ones that don't include either of us."

The little girl's eyes wavered and moistened. "But … but …" She looked away.

"Hey, it doesn't mean he's abandoning you, Dina. He may just have things he wants to do, that's all."

She nodded. "I wish he didn't get me another doll."

Priscilla knelt on one leg and lowered her self so she was looking level at Dina. "What did you want instead?"

"I wish he and you would have dinner with me, like Nonna Lorelli's family."

"Well, nothing is stopping us from having our own Christmas dinner, right?" Priscilla tried to sound upbeat.

"It's not the same."

"You miss Paolo?"

"No. I mean, yes. I always miss him when he's not here. But that's not why."

"This is important to you, right?"

Dina sucked in her lower lip, scrunched shut her eyes and nodded.

"Can you tell me why?"

"I don't want to be a monster, that's why!" Dina lowered her head on Priscilla's right shoulder so they were ear-to-ear. "I don't want to be … to be a monster."

"Wait, what?"

"Signore Inspector called me a monster." She sucked in a lungful of air. "He called me a monster. I don't want to be a monster. I don't, Priscilla. I don't."

"Shh. Shh. Don't cry, Dina. How would having dinner with me make you not a … how would it make you feel better?"

Dina took three more deep breaths, each ragged and uneven. "If I could have dinner with you and Signore Paolo, then we'd be a family, just like Nonna Lorelli's famly, right? Then, I would just be a normal girl. I would have a family. I would be normal."

Priscilla nodded, but her mouth grew dry.

"I would have a family. We would have Christmas dinner together. I would be just a plain, boring girl. But we can't. We can't, so I'm a monster." She turned, burying her damp face in Priscilla's hair. "I'm monster, Priscilla. I'm a monster, and I don't want to be ... to be one."

"Shh. Shh, Dina. You're not a monster. You aren't. Remember what you said the first day we met? 'I said it, so it must be true?' "

Dina's breathing slowed. "Uh-huh." She swallowed, the sound loud in Priscilla's ear.

"I'm saying it now. You are not a monster. You are not a monster. You are not a monster. Okay?"

Dina nodded.

Priscilla took a deep breath. As she exhaled, words escaped. "You're not the monster, Dina. We are."


End file.
